Fantomina Returns: Or, Love in a Monastery
by liz haywood
Summary: On the seventh day, she rested.


**Fantomina Returns: Or, Love in a Monastery**

_Two minutes in heaven is better than one minute in heaven._

- Jemaine Clement, _Flight of the Conchords_

**1. Fantomina Takes the Reins**

A young lady of distinguished beauty, birth, wit, spirit, and sexual appetite happened to be one night in a horse-drawn carriage; she was being carted, at her mother's behest, to a monastery in northern France. The young lady had earlier made her way by boat across the Channel and, upon reaching France, had been greeted by the rustically handsome Jacques.

"_Bonjour, Mademoiselle!_" he called out as she stepped off the boat, pulling her trunk behind her. "Might you be the Lady F—?"

"Indeed sir," she replied (in flawless French, thanks to her magnificent breeding). "I am she. You, though, may call me _Fantomina_."

Jacques blushed and, taken aback, for a moment failed to respond. He soon, however, approached, lifted her trunk, and with a gentle smile said: "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Fantomina. My name is Jacques and I've been sent to carry you to the monastery just outside the town of C—. Please, follow me. My carriage is parked just up the road."

The last rays of sunlight dwindled into darkness as she followed Jacques to the carriage.

The pair had been traveling in silence for just over an hour and were headed along a rather unfrequented road, surrounded by dense forest, when Miss F— took the initiative to strike up a conversation with her young carriage driver.

"Who is it, sir," she said softly, "that sent you for me?"

"Why, the Abbess, of course. I run errands for her, you know, as well as for some folk in town."

"The Abbess," she repeated. "And the Abbess, did she happen to mention, perhaps, anything concerning—my circumstances?"

"No ma'am," he replied, "only that you were a lady of the first degree who was soon to be admitted to the monastery. In truth, I must confess the great curiosity that seems to have taken hold of me—only, what I mean to say is, I simply cannot understand how a lady of such standing and culture and—well—might come to desire—oh, you know—the simplicity of a monastic life. Forgive, please, my impropriety."

"Oh," she said, "but curiosity is hardly impropriety. And were you, in any case, to somehow—ah, forget your station—I am sure I should forgive you."

She scooted closer to Jacques and fancied she could see, even through the veil of dark, a blush on his broad cheeks.

"Indeed," she pressed, "I am certain you would never do such a thing—ah—_unprovoked_." At this, she lightly rested a hand on his thigh.

"Oh—no, no ma'am," he stuttered. "Certainly not."

"But, Jacques, tell me," she said softly, her lips now just inches from his ear. "You said you were curious. About me."

He nodded roughly. She could hear his heavy, uneven breathing.

"Just _how_ curious," she whispered, running her hand up the full length of his thigh, "are you?"

She could feel the firm answer beneath his trousers.

"Jacques," she commanded, "stop the carriage."

Invigorated by the tryst and, indeed, by her own clever machinations, she left the exhausted Jacques asleep in a forest clearing as she quietly stole away to the carriage.

Miss F— patted each of the two palominos before climbing into the carriage and cajoling the horses to a canter. She was headed toward C—.

**2. Seduction in C—**

Day was just breaking as Miss F— arrived at the outskirts of C—. C—, it turned out, was a quaint little place; charming, she supposed, but rather desolate at this hour, and surely no match for London. At the edge of the town, she stopped the horses and loosed them from the carriage.

"You're free," she said, waving the horses away. "Go on now. You're free."

The creatures neighed incomprehensively and wandered toward a nearby clearing in the forest.

Miss F— removed her trunk, then pushed the carriage itself far enough into the woods to be invisible from the edge of town. Upon returning from this venture, she began to her pull her trunk away from the forest's edge and nearer to the center of C—. Soon she came upon a bench, located outside of what seemed to be a linen shop. The shop had not yet opened for the day, and she decided to bide her time while she waited for someone who might direct her toward an inn or place of lodging to appear.

She felt, not for the first time since leaving London, a pang of regret. Although she was fortunately in no way simple enough to feel an inelegant excess of maternal affection, she did rather miss her newborn daughter. Trusting, however, her mother's capacity and intention to provide the girl with a safe and abundant—if rather cloistered—life, she turned her attention to her past intrigue with the dashing _Beauplaisir_. She marveled at her ability to deceive him, remembering once more, with an amused smile, his complete perplexity at the revelation of her true identity. She longed only for the chance to have seduced him under one final guise, a guise she had begun to design after realizing that _Incognita_ (her most ingenuous design to date) could no longer be maintained—and, indeed, a guise that would have proved, beyond all others, her utter and inarguable domination of the fickle _Beauplaisir_.

"What, indeed"—she was startled out of her thoughts by the voice of a strange man—"might the _mademoiselle_ be thinking? Surely something of the utmost loveliness, to have placed that radiant smile on her face."

Miss F— looked up to see a gentleman of about forty-five, lean, well dressed, and possessing an air of sophistication.

"Oh sir," she said with a fresh smile, divinely innocent but for the coy tilt of her chin, "there can hardly be much loveliness in this simple mind. I have only been concerning myself with the difficult question of lodgings. I arrived in C— only this morning, and, as for an inn—"

"My dear," the man interrupted, "a lady such as yourself must be particular about her lodgings, and the only inn of any quality in C— is located on the opposite side of town. If you will allow, I would be happy to fetch my carriage—it is just up the road—and drive you there; the walk is long and certainly unfit for the fairer sex, especially when more than one's own body need be transported!" Here he waved toward her trunk.

"Indeed," she replied, "I would be ever grateful for your help. But, sir," she continued, gazing up at him through lowered lids, "I do believe you overestimate my station, or at least my consideration for it. I am surely not so particular about my lodgings as you have made out, and yearn for rest, rather than for the extension of what has been an already exhausting journey. Are you not acquainted with any—_nearby_—lodgings?"

"If you seek immediate rest," he said, kneeling to meet her gaze and placing a hand on her knee, "I should be more than happy to set you up in the guests' quarters of my own home. It is but a humble cottage, though I expect it should serve your purpose to satisfaction. The walk from here to there is negligible—a few minutes at most."

She placed her hand on top of his. "Truly, sir, I am beyond grateful for this kindness."

After he had installed her in his guest room (with, naturally, significant and prolonged attention to even her most particular comforts), her recent benefactor left her to rest while he went (two hours late) to work. He was, Miss F— had learned during the hours in which they had become more intimately acquainted, the proprietor of the linen shop she had earlier noticed. _Monsieur R_— was his name; he was a widower with three grown sons, one who had experienced a religious epiphany and joined the nearby monastery, another who had gone abroad and done rather well for himself in English society, and finally a kind soul who lacked the depth of his first brother and the wit of his second but was able to make himself useful doing odd jobs about the town. When Mr. R— inquired into her name and her past, she replied that her name was _Celia _and that she was on her way to visit a distant relation in the town of V—, about ten miles south of C—. She had been a poor, orphaned maid until being discovered by this aged relation, who had recently sent her some fine clothing and invited her to visit her estate at V—. He accepted this story with all the gullibility of his sex, a gullibility from which Miss F— had oft benefited and which she expected must stem from that vast overconfidence in one's own intellectual capacities quite particular to those of the denser sex.

Alone in the widower's cottage, the lady pondered her options. She must, she knew, leave C— as soon as possible; though she expected that Jacques would be greatly disadvantaged by his lack of a carriage, he would, she was sure, make his way back to C— within the next day or two, and she certainly could not risk a second meeting. But how could she escape? And where could she go?

V— was not out of the question, although she would have to hurry on foot or steal another carriage. And, of course, she risked the possibility that Jacques had some acquaintance with Mr. R—, in which case the two might discover that _Fantomina_ and _Celia_ were one and the same; indeed, they might even _expect_ her to travel to V— and attempt to overtake her.

No, V— was out of the question. So, in fact, were any of the neighboring towns. Truly, she could think of only one place where no one would think to look for the horse-thief Fantomina, the lady who had escaped on her way to . . .

Miss F— knew what she must do. She rummaged through her trunk until she found what she was looking for, and in a matter of minutes her hair and eyebrows were black. She then lay aside her fine, silk dress and opened the wardrobe of Mr. R—'s guestroom. Luckily, Mr. R— was a sentimental man, and though he had long since moved her belongings from his quarters, he nevertheless had saved much of his late wife's clothing.

**3. Fantomina Takes the Monastery**

It was rather unfortunate, the lady reflected as she walked, that she'd been compelled to leave her trunk of fine clothing at the residence of Mr. R—. But she desired freedom from a life of enforced chastity somewhat more than she desired expensive fabrics, and, after all, she had concocted a masterful plan of escape; no one would think to look for her where she was headed.

The commonly referred-to "monastery" outside C— was, in fact, _two_ monasteries—one a community of nuns and the other a community of monks; the chapels and living quarters of each lay in close (though not _temptingly _close) proximity—about 6 miles apart, or 3 miles in either direction from the wooden fence where the grounds of each officially met. When Miss F—, tired from the walk, came upon what appeared, in the distance, to be a monastery—an imposing stone building of the Gothic Style—she placed herself behind a large tree and waited to see if the figures emerging from the cathedral appeared male or female. Two or three were headed in her direction, toward a small well no farther than a few hundred yards ahead of her. They were, she could now see, men. She stole from behind the tree and began to walk briskly toward them.

"_Bonjour, Monsieurs!_" she called. "Are you by chance acquainted with a Brother R—?"

The robed, bald-headed men in front of her stared as if they hadn't seen a woman in years.

Ah.

"Brother R—," she repeated. "Please. It is of the utmost importance."

"I'm terribly sorry, ma'am," one of the monks finally said, "but what circumstances could have brought you here? We allow women neither on the grounds nor within the monastery itself."

"I understand sir," she replied. "This, however, is a family matter of a most pressing nature. I am his cousin and have been sent here by my mother, the sister of his recently departed mother, God rest her soul. His brothers are attending to related matters and were unable to be here with the necessary immediacy."

"Truly," said another of the monks to the first, "young as the lady is, she undoubtedly resembles the late mother of our dear Brother R—."

"Yes," said a third monk, "she does, she certainly does. The resemblance is almost uncanny. And the circumstances sound grave. Well"—he now spoke directly to her—"I see that you speak the truth, and far be it from the servants of God to create obstacles between family in dire circumstances. Shall I lead you to Brother R—?"

Because she had managed to convince the monks of the privacy and urgency of the matter at hand, Miss F— now found herself alone with Brother R—, and in his living quarters no less.

"Forgive me, _Mademoiselle_," said Brother R— upon her unannounced entrance, "but are we acquainted? This is, I'm sure you are aware, no place for a young lady."

"Isn't it, though?" she said absently, seating herself atop his Spartan cot.

Brother R— glared. He was, though tragically bearing the bald head of the religiously devout, a remarkably handsome man, his eyes intense and features finely wrought. The lady had calculated that she would have some time—perhaps as much as a week—before she would have to make her final flight from C— and the entire surrounding area. Time, she now hoped, during which she might engage in a bit of recreation.

The monk closed his Bible and stood from his desk. "No, " he said, "it is not. Do I know you?"

"No," she replied, and then, under her breath, "but wouldn't you like to?"

He said nothing, and luckily did not seem to have heard her last remark.

"I need to get away," she told him. "I was told that you had connections. In England. _Please_, sir. My father is a madman, he has been chasing me for days and days and if he were to catch me—" She shuddered quite prettily. "I'm a poor woman, Brother, but I _must_ leave the country. It is the only way that I might—might escape—the horror . . . "

The monk's face softened. "Indeed," he said gravely, "I sense God's truth in your words. Perhaps He has sent you here for reasons that I am not meant understand. I do, as you say, have a younger brother in England, and another in C—, who would, I am sure, be happy to take you in his carriage. And I expect it will not be a terrible burden for the first to arrange your ferry ride. He may also, perhaps, be of some help in a search for safe and affordable lodgings when you have reached England."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!"

"The glory is His alone. However, it will take some time to make arrangements with my brother in England. Will your father—"

"While I am here," she interrupted, "I am safe. But he is surely on his way. I must leave the country."

"Have you considered—there is a nunnery—"

"Oh, no!" she cried. "He will certainly think to look for me there, and I simply could not bear to risk the safety of the others by my presence. Only _here_," she emphasized, "am I safe."

The monk nodded. "It must be as it must be. When my duty to God's will is in conflict with the regulations of the brotherhood, I must honor my most sacred duty at the expense of lesser strictures. I will shelter you here until your safe passage abroad has been settled."

"May God bless you, sir," she said. "I am forever grateful."

Just hours later, Miss F— was tucked into the tiny cot of Brother R—'s cell, while the monk lay on his back atop a thin blanket spread across the stone floor.

"Brother," the lady whispered into the dark, "you must be terribly uncomfortable on the hard stone."

"Earthly discomfort means naught to me," he responded. "Sleep; do not trouble yourself on my behalf."

"But surely," she continued, now slipping out of the cot and seating herself next to him on the floor, "there must be _something_ I can do to . . . put you more at ease."

He lay still. "No," he said, "there really is—"

"_Surely_," she repeated, straddling the monk and running her hands up and down his chest, "there must be _something_ I can do."

He groaned. There was, it seemed, _something_.

"Alas!" cried Brother R—, when the ecstasy of their escapade had begun to fade. "My vow! My sacred vow of celibacy! I have committed a mortal sin."

He engaged in three more mortal sins that very night, and just six days later, Miss F— had drawn the same lament from every monk in the village, as well as a few of the nuns.

On the seventh day, she rested.

**4. _Beauplaisir_ Returns**

It had been just over a week since Miss F—'s arrival at the monastery when she was awakened by a knock at the door of Brother R—'s cell and the call of a strangely familiar male voice—"Hello? Pierre? Are you here?"

"I haven't been expecting visitors," the monk whispered to her. "I wonder. . . hurry, hide!" he ordered, crossing the small room and opening the door of his rickety wardrobe. "You ought to fit in here."

She did fit, although she was forced to fold her legs and keep her arms wrapped around her knees. She was nearly smothered by Brother R—'s excessively long monastic robes, although she spied what appeared to be a shorter pair of breeches hanging in the far corner.

She heard Brother R— open the bedroom door.

"My dear brother!"—this was certainly the voice of R—. "But what brings you here, so far from your residence? You cannot possibly have received my letter, or—"

"No, no letter. I had probably left England before it could arrive. Was it a matter of some urgency?"

"Nothing that cannot now be better discussed in person. But what, then, brings you?"

"To C—? A silly whim, actually. I had gotten wind of—well, certain rumors that are of private importance only. Unfortunately that aspect of my trip has proven fruitless. But have you spoken to Jacques of late? When I stopped to visit him, he said his carriage had been stolen!"

"Stolen?"

"In truth, and he insisted that he had no idea how this had come to pass. He would say only that he stepped away from the carriage very briefly, and when he returned, it had vanished. Horses and all!"

"A tragedy for our brother, indeed," replied the monk. "Is this what you came to tell me?"

"No, no. Just a piece of news. I've decided to relocate to Portugal, actually, and I wanted to see you before I left. There is no telling when I may return to C—."

"To Portugal? But _Beauplaisir!_"—the lady gasped softly—"This is not a decision to be made hastily. Perhaps we should continue our discussion outside. Do you fancy a walk around the grounds?"

"Yes, yes, certainly."

When the lady heard the door swing shut and was certain that the room was empty, she opened the wardrobe and stepped out—and donning a very different outfit than what she had stepped _in_ wearing.

Miss F— could hardly believe what she had heard only an hour previously, but she knew without a doubt that the man she had heard was her lover, her own _Beauplaisir_. From a window she had watched the tiny figures of Brother R— and _Beauplaisir_ as they strolled across the monastery grounds, until the church bells rang and the two hugged and parted. Brother R— headed toward the cathedral. It was time for Mass. _Beauplaisir_ stretched and lounged on a nearby bench. The lady hurried from the room.

**5. Fantomina Does Drag**

_Beauplaisir _had been troubled, certainly, by the chaos and disappointment that had greeted him in C—. He had been troubled, in truth, long before reaching C—; indeed, he had been troubled since the birth of his daughter and the revelations made to him by a certain lady—_his lover!_ And, from an ingenious design of hers, the only lover he'd taken in over two years. After his profound confusion passed, _Beauplaisir _found himself lying awake night after night, examining in his mind the many faces, voices, mannerisms of his lover; yearning first for _Fantomina_, then for _Celia_ or perhaps _Incognita_, and finally, desperately, wishing for the beautiful, brilliant Miss F— herself, for the woman he loved, undressed and unmasked.

He had not yet managed to take another woman to bed, could not yet bear the idea. Alas! While he had thought he desired many women, he actually desired only one—and she the finest of her sex. He could no longer settle for another, and England had grown unbearably wearisome in her absence. There had been rumors, the faintest whisperings, of the departed lady's fate, and when _Beauplaisir _caught wind that the monastery outside the French town of C— may be the destined residence of Miss F—, he had rushed to the town of his childhood.

But now he was certain that he would never see his beloved again. He had inquired after her relentlessly at the nunnery, until the Head Nun had insisted that no Miss F—, or _Fantomina_, or _Celia_, or indeed _any_ young lady had arrived within the year, and had further insisted that he abandon the premises immediately or face God's own wrath. _Beauplaisir_ knew that he could not stomach a return to dreary England, nor could he settle down in the stifling town of C— where he and his family were well known. He decided almost instantly after his disappointment at the nunnery that he must relocate to Portugal, or perhaps to Spain or Italy, where he would build himself a reputation and do all he could to erase the dazzling Miss F— and her many faces from his memory.

He stretched and lazily examined the grounds of the monastery, his heart heavy. He certainly did not wish to return to England, but his brother had told him of a young lady who desperately needed his help. And perhaps, perhaps _she_ would be able to take his mind off . . .

"How do you do, sir?"—_Beauplaisir_ was startled from his thoughts by a coarse, boyish voice. He looked up to see a handsome, rather delicately built lad of about sixteen or seventeen years old, dressed in breeches and boots. The boy touched his cap in deference to _Beauplaisir_.

"Wonderful, wonderful. And yourself?"

"Oh, can't complain," said the boy. "Long morning in the stables, though, and my legs're awfully tired. Wouldn't mind sparing a bit of room on the bench, would you?"

"Certainly not," _Beauplaisir_ replied. The boy sat down next to him—_right_ next to him, in fact, and rather nearer than propriety would allow, even in the relatively free atmosphere of France.

_Beauplaisir_, however, did not move; instead, he studied the freckles that sprinkled the cheeks of his new companion. There was something unnervingly appealing about this boy—a rather vague quality that _Beauplaisir_ couldn't quite put his finger on—

"Sir?" the lad said pointedly, and _Beauplaisir_ nearly blushed at being caught in the midst his own musings. "I asked what brings a gentlemen such as yourself to this humble monastery."

"Of course, of course. My older brother, as it happens, has been a monk here for some years now. I came to visit him before departing for Portugal."

"Portugal?" the lad repeated, turning toward _Beauplaisir_ and lightly putting a hand on his knee as if to anchor him. "Might I ask what _Portugal_ could have that dear France doesn't?"

"Oh, I expect it has quite a lot of nothing," he said, noticing that the boy had not removed his hand. It was a finely built, even noble hand. He felt an inexplicable urge to confide in this stranger. "Which is exactly what I seek. Simply a place foreign enough that I might live quietly and forget my troubles. I had a lover, you see—a woman very dear to my heart. But I took her for granted. I never understood how fully she had captured my heart—well, until she was gone."

"Gone?" the boy whispered, tightening his grip on _Beauplaisir's_ knee. "I'm terribly sorry to hear—your lady—had she been ill—"

"Oh no, thankfully, no—she is, to my knowledge, in perfect health. She and I lived in London, but our love was never—ah—sanctified by marriage, and when the affair was made known to her mother—well. The young lady was whisked from the city—perhaps even from the country."

"Ah, dear. And you've no hopes of seeing this lady again?"

_Beauplaisir_ looked into the stable boy's clear eyes, which held a strangely knowing expression. "No," he said. "I have no hope of seeing this lady again."

"It's a shame," his companion said. "And that such a grand love story. I can't imagine your grief."

"Yes," he replied, "the grief of lost love is a grief I had not, until lately, been wretched enough to experience."

"I do wish there was something I could do to ease your pain, good sir."

"Can you return my dear Miss F— to me?"

The boy frowned and gave his knee one last squeeze, then abruptly stood up from the bench. "Follow me," he ordered, and with such authority that _Beauplaisir_ felt he had not choice but to obey. "I want to show you something."

**6. The Completely Unpredictable Reveal**

The lady closed the door behind them; she had taken her grief-stricken lover to an empty cell. The room was sparsely furnished—a bed, a desk, a wardrobe—and everything was coated in a thin layer of dust. The room had been uninhabited since Brother Q— had abandoned his monastic life to become a forest-dwelling nudist several months prior.

"Sit down," she told a confused _Beauplaisir, _pointing to the bed. He obeyed.

"Now," she whispered, sauntering toward him, "what precisely would you do to regain your departed lover?"

"Anything," he said, looking around the room in a confused daze. "I—I'd do absolutely anything."

Miss F— smiled wickedly and put a hand on his chest. She pushed him onto his back and climbed onto the bed. Her lover's breathing grew rough and erratic and she straddled him, pinning him to the bed with one hand and lightly stroking his neck with the other.

"Would you do _anything_ she desired?"

"Y—yes, I would," he replied.

She began to unbutton his shirt.

"Would you," she said, "live your life in deference and servitude to your beloved lady?"

"_Yes!_" he cried. "Yes, of course!"

She ran her fingers up and down his stomach.

"Would you worship her as you would a goddess, and be faithful to her until the very day you died?"

"Yes, yes!" he gasped. "Yes, I would—I would—why are you—"

"Take off my cap," she ordered.

Tentatively, _Beauplaisir_ took the rim of her cap between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it from her head. The lady's thick, auburn hair spilled out and onto her back and shoulders.

"Who am I?" she said, reverting now to her usual feminine voice.

_Beauplaisir's _eyes widened. He ran a hand through her hair. "No—no," he stammered. "It can't be—surely—you can't be—"

"Unbutton my shirt," she said.

His hands trembled as he unfastened the first button of her shirt. Suddenly, he buried his face into her neck and threw his arms around her, collapsing into sobs.

"My love!" he cried. "My love—my own—my own beloved—_Fantomina!_"

She placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

"You will call me _Mistress_ Fantomina now," she said. "Now, and always."

**7. Epilogue: Fantomina Rules**

Mistress Fantomina and her man-slave _Beauplaisir_ (to whom she referred, generally, as "man-slave," or, when feeling less generous, "slave-bitch") _did_, in fact, relocate to Portugal, where they resided in a sunny villa by the sea. A few months later, Fantomina's mother miraculously dropped dead; she and her man-slave regained custody of their daughter and inherited a vast estate. The pair had several more children and lived, kinkily, ever after.


End file.
